June 2, 1290

Brunya City, Kelstone

The little girl walked along the low stone wall in front of the death goddess’ temple. She had her arms out to her sides for balance and her brown, waist-long hair fluttered behind her in the breeze.

When she reached the corner of the wall, where it turned back toward the graveyard behind the temple, something caught her attention—a mousy-looking boy about her age with short brown curls was sitting with his back against a white marble tombstone. He had his knees pulled up against his chest and looked as though he might be crying. She jumped down from the wall, then pausing to pick a daisy, walked over to him and offered it.

He looked up at her with big hazel eyes, and took it with a sad smile. “Thanks,” he said as he looked back down. His voice was soft, and a little hoarse from crying.

She cocked her head to the side, studying him for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

He watched the flower twirl between his thumb and finger. “She went away, and I miss her.”

“Who?”

He took a deep breath before he answered, “My mom.”

“Where’d she go?”

“She died.”

“Oh.” The girl knelt down, frowning in thought. “I could stay with you if you want.”

He looked pleased by the offer. “Okay.”

She sat beside him, leaning back against the tombstone. “My name’s Tess. It’s actually Tessa, but don’t call me that ‘cause it sounds girly.”

He wiped his tears away with the long sleeve of his shirt and glanced at her. “But… you are a girl,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I’m not girly. I’m tough,” she told him, sitting up straighter, and attempting to look the part.

He looked her over—she was his height and just as skinny, but she was wearing leather bracers and combat boots. He nodded, believing her. “My name’s Ayden.”

She picked at the grass in front of her, and her foot moved back and forth a bit as if she were too energetic to stay still. “You wanna be friends?”

“Okay,” he said happily, his sorrow seemingly forgotten for the moment.

She smiled. “So, what do you like to do, Ayd?” she asked comfortably.

He shrugged. “Read.”

“Like storybooks?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “I like ones about heroes. I’m gonna be a hero someday.”

He looked skeptical. “Really?”

“Yep. I’m gonna be just like my dad.”

“Who’s he?”

“He’s the best fighter ever,” she said proudly. “Well, ‘cept my uncle. They saved the whole world from the evil high priestess of Malluk before I was born.”

“Oh, I heard about that,” he said brightly. “My teacher, Ms. Cormack, talked about it.”

“Mine, too. My dad doesn’t like people talking about it. He says he’s not a hero, but I know he is. My aunt says it’s ‘cause he’s mmm...” She paused, thinking of the word. “Modest,” she said finally.

He nodded and they fell silent for a minute while she looked at him, as if sizing him up. “Hey, maybe you could be a hero with me.”

His eyes widened. “Me?” he asked, so surprised that he almost stuttered.

“Sure. You just gotta practice and work real hard so you can get good like me. I’m a fighter. I practice all the time with my dad. He works at the Fighters Guild.” She puffed up as she said it. “So, what are you?”

He frowned, and his shoulders slumped as he looked back at the flower in his hand. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

“You can be whatever you want. What do you wanna be?”

He raised his head, smiling again. “A mage. I wanna use magic like my mom did.”

“Mages can be heroes. My mom’s a mage, and she helped stop Kieran, too.”

“Really?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

She nodded enthusiastically. “You could come with me,” she offered.

“Where’re you going?”

“When I grow up I’m gonna go adventuring. Fight evil, you know.”

He swallowed. “But...there’s monsters out there.”

“So? I’ll kill ‘em,” she said confidently.

He looked at her in awe. “You’re really brave.”

“Yep,” she agreed. “You can be, too. I’ll help you; then you can come with me, and we’ll fight for good together. I’ll slash the bad guys to pieces, and you’ll blast ‘em away with your magic.”

He studied her for a moment while he considered it. “Okay, but I have to learn some spells first.”

She grinned happily. “It’s a deal, then,” she said, holding out her hand to him.

He grinned back and shook it. “Yeah, deal.”

_________

Half an hour later, Ayden watched his new friend walk out of the cemetery. He smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of being a hero and going adventuring, but he knew he liked her, and he wanted to be a mage anyway.

He walked several blocks southeast; still holding the flower Tess had given him. When he got to the town center, he glanced across the grassy plaza, past the garden in the center, to his father’s forge on the next street over; then to the north on his side where the Mages’ Guild was. He swallowed, and wondered if he could make it inside the guild without his father seeing him.

Jarden didn’t want his son anywhere around magic. He hadn’t trusted magic before his wife died, and now he completely hated it—it was magic that killed Aylanna. She had been writing down a spell of her own making, but arcane writing was a tricky, and sometimes dangerous, thing. Incorrect symbols could have very undesirable effects. She had been working with something based off lightning, and the wrong symbol had caused the spell to backfire.

Still, Ayden had wanted to be a mage since he first knew about magic. He knew his mother had wanted him to be one, but his father wouldn’t allow it. Jarden wanted Ayden to grow up to be a blacksmith like he was, so he could leave the forge to his son just as his father had left it to him. Aylanna had been a timid woman and had never gone against his wishes.

But Aylanna wasn’t there anymore. Now it was only his father, and Ayden was confident that he could hide his magic from him. He could practice away from home, maybe with his new friend. He smiled at the thought.

He took a last look at the forge; then dashed to the Mages Guild. He didn’t stop running until he was safely inside with his back against the closed door. Fear knotted in his stomach as he turned around and opened the door a crack. He peeked out, checking to see if his father was now walking out of the forge to come get him.

He sighed in relief—the coast was clear.

“Ayden.”

He yelped and whirled around, the daisy in his hand dropping to the floor. Meredith, his grandmother, picked it up and frowned at it. Unlike her daughter, Meredith was a solid woman with short, slightly spiky gray hair and fierce brown eyes.

While his mother had been quiet and shy; his grandmother stood tall and proud, always seeming powerful and in charge. Her demeanor fit though, since she ran this guild and had a seat in the Mages Council—the authority over all mages in Kelstone. She was an important person in the mage community. Even without that, he had always found her to be intimidating.

“Sorry, I...uh...” Ayden stumbled over his words nervously.

“Don’t be a mouse,” Meredith barked in annoyance.

Ayden nodded and forced himself to stand a little taller. “I wanna be a mage,” he said, getting straight to the point.

It was up to her if he could be one now or not. Only guild members could buy spells, and he couldn’t join himself until he was sixteen—or twelve with a parent’s permission. But most mages started out when they were children, many as young as two-years-old. Parents simply purchased the spells and taught them at home. Underage casting was technically illegal, but the Mages Council never enforced the law unless a child got out of hand.

As expected, his grandmother smiled, immensely pleased with his desire. “Oh, you will be,” she promised. “How old are you now?”

“Six.”

She sighed. “Well, we can’t do anything about lost time. At least you can start now.” She walked away, leaving him to follow. As she headed for the dark, polished wooden stairs in the back, she passed a trash bin and tossed the flower into it.

Ayden quickly got his daisy back and hurried after her—his steps muffled by the thick yellow-and-blue rug that covered most the floor.

They entered his grandmother’s office at the end of a long hallway, and Meredith sat down in a blue velvet chair behind her very organized desk. She studied him for a moment. “Throw that flower away, you’re not a girl.”

He held the stem tighter. “No. My friend gave it to me.”

She smiled. “Elyandra is here already? I thought she wasn’t coming until tomorrow.”

“It wasn’t her. I met a new friend.” He smiled to himself, thinking about the exuberant girl with the easy smile and excited brown eyes.

“Oh.” Meredith sounded a little disappointed, but also curious. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Tess.”

“Who are her parents?” she asked. It was always about lineage with her, as it was with most mages.

“She said her dad worked at the Fighters Guild. He’s one of the people who defeated the evil priestess of Malluk,” he told her, feeling proud of it. He was now a friend of the hero’s daughter.

Meredith frowned. “Falcon? His wife is a mage, but a very weak one. She doesn’t even know what bloodline she’s from.” She huffed indignantly. “Well, Elyandra will be here tomorrow, and she’ll being staying for two weeks, so you’ll be spending time with her.”

“But I wanna be with Tess,” he argued.

“You’ll be good and be with Elyandra,” she told him firmly; then changed the subject, obviously feeling that the topic of Tess was settled and done.

Ayden said nothing more about it, but he had no intention of giving up his new friend, no matter what his grandmother said.

“Now what spell should we start you off with?” she wondered.

His feelings quickly shifted from defiant to happy. He was really going to be a mage, he thought. A real mage! “Can I have a fireball spell?” he asked hopefully, his eyes now wide with excitement.

Meredith chuckled softly. “No, that will wait until you’re a bit older. I think a light spell is good for now.” She smiled indulgently then. “Well… we’ll find you a few good ones to start with.”

He grinned as he gently slipped the flower Tess had given him into his back pocket; then followed his grandmother to a wall of cubbyholes that were labeled and filled with spell scrolls.

__________

September 5, 1300

Plain of Darkness

A dark palace overlooked a vast, black marble terrain. Lava below the ground caused the cracks in it to glow orange, while deep red clouds drifted slowly across the black sky overhead. Through an open window, Malluk and Kieran could hear the melody of tormented cries and screams in the distance. There was also the sound of rowdy laughter from a tavern-like place, an eternal party for the devout worshipers of evil god, Malluk. It was a place where people sentenced to time in this hell by the goddess of justice were jerked around on leashes—the abused playthings of the dark god’s favored followers.

They didn’t even notice. It was nothing more than pleasant background noise to them. Besides, at that moment, their attention was on a stone font before them where, across the surface of the silvery water, a scene played out. It was of a man, living on the Mortal Plain, one whose features looked very like those of the woman watching him.

Kieran, once Malluk’s high priestess, now stood beside her god looking the same as she had the day she died—young, striking, and beautiful, with full red lips, smoldering dark eyes, long black hair, and a voluptuous body very scantily clad in black leather.

“My son is so like you, my lord,” she told Malluk. “He’s strong, fearless, and has a talent for cruelty.” She smiled proudly. “He has grown up to be such a fine disciple without me, but he would be even better with my guidance.” She turned to look up at Malluk. “Let me go back,” she pleaded once again. “Give me another chance to shape Kelstone in the image of your perfect plain. I won’t fail this time, not with my son at my side. There will be no stopping us.”

Malluk glanced down at her with glowing eyes, like embers in a fire. He was eight feet tall with a huge, thickly muscled body, and wore only fitting black pants. He had dark gray skin, wild shoulder-length black hair, and large black horns two inches above his temples that curved back. His face looked mean, with thick black eyebrows, pronounced cheekbones, a wide jaw, and black lips that were set in a permanent scowl.

“How insulting that you so long to be out of your god’s presence,” he said in a deep voice that was quiet, though still like a lion’s roar.

“Never,” she insisted fervently. “I only wish to serve you.”

His chuckle was more of a low rumble. “You wish to serve yourself, to regain your power and rule over the Mortal Plain as you did before.”

She smirked. “Do you disapprove of my ambition?”

“No, your lust for power is admirable.” He watched the man in the font for a moment before coming to a decision. “Your son has a lot of potential. I think I will enjoy seeing what dark future you two create.”

She gasped. “You’re letting me return?”

He nodded once. “Assuming Mortalia agrees.”

Kieran smiled. The goddess of death’s one weakness was her love for the dark god. Mortalia was sure to give him whatever he wanted.

A moment later, a beautiful woman with flawless pale skin walked into the room. She wore a sleeveless white dress with a wide neckline that swooped down gracefully in the front. She was the same height as Kieran, but that was all they had in common. The goddess was slender, her curves more gentle, and she had long, thick white hair that was elegantly twisted and held back at the nape of her neck. It was her eyes, though, that immediately drew attention. They were light silver with no pupils and bits of white mist drifting slowly through them, like ghosts trapped in a pair of orbs.

Mortalia stopped a few feet from Malluk’s other side. “Yes?” she asked calmly, one of her eyebrows arching curiously.

Malluk motioned to the font. “Look at Kieran’s son.”

She turned her attention to the man and watched neutrally as he tortured a helpless victim with cold eyes and a ruthless smile. “What of him?”

“A good disciple, don’t you think?”

“As they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Kieran put in. “And isn’t he deliciously rotten?” She chuckled, amused with herself, but then sighed quietly when the others ignored her.

“Yes,” Mortalia said to Malluk. “He appears to be just as heartless as you.”

Malluk looked pleased, as if she were complimenting him. “Exactly.”

“Great,” she said unenthusiastically. “So what do you want with me?”

“Return Kieran to the Mortal Plain.”

Mortalia glanced at Kieran, looked into her mind, and instantly knew everything. She rolled her eyes at Malluk. “Absolutely not,” she told him flatly and turned to leave.

He grabbed her arm and jerked her back to him. “Return her,” he demanded.

“No,” she said, just as firmly, and tugged her arm out of his very large hand.

“Fine. You want something in return?”

“You have nothing to give me.”

He took hold of her throat and pulled her closer. “Oh, I have something,” he disagreed. “And it’s something you want very much.” He leaned down and licked her pale lips with his black tongue.

“Don’t touch me!” She shoved him away and walked off again. “I hate you.”

He chuckled and pulled her back. Sliding a hand around her waist, he held her tightly against him. “How long has it been, Talia?” he murmured. “Long enough for you to forget how nice I can be when I have sufficient motivation?” He bent down to kiss her. Seeming unable to resist, she immediately opened to him and returned the kiss feelingly.

When he finally released her, she glared at his smug smile and shook him off. But once again, he drew her back. “I don’t think you’re seeing the whole picture. If you return her, then she won’t be here anymore,” he pointed out as he ran a black, claw-like nail down the side of Mortalia’s face.

The goddess sighed. “No, especially not after what she did before.”

Kieran spoke up then. “I’ve had my punishment for going against the other temples. I won’t do it again.”

“Though someone”—Mortalia looked pointedly at Malluk—“should have stopped her while she was still alive.”

Malluk shrugged. “It was interesting, and technically the interference rule is for us, not mortals.”

“For you, I’m sure it was quiet entertaining. But even the other gods agreed that you were pushing the line by letting her get away with closing all temples but yours.”

“Kieran will not break the rule again,” Malluk assured her. “If she did, I would immediately put a stop to it and punish her myself.”

“Still...” Mortalia said. “Even if I did let her go back, Fate would find some champion to set it right, just as she did last time.”

Fate was a pathseer—a powerful fairy who watched over the world in secret and made sure there was balance. When Kieran had dominated Kelstone before, Fate had brought in two people from Earth. With the help of friends and an enchanted orb, they had defeated her.

“Let me worry about that,” Kieran said. “It was my sister’s fault that I failed last time. She was the one who actually did it. She’s the one who pulled me into the lava pit with her. There’s no way I could have foreseen my weakling of a sister turning on me like that. But she’s dead now, and will remain so.”

“Amiya, along with the others who had a hand in your death, were only there because of Falcon and Julia,” Mortalia reminded her. “They were the ones who turned her against you. New champions would simply find a new way.”

“Still,” Kieran said stubbornly, “with my son at my side, no one will stop me this time.”

The death goddess looked into the font again and watched the man for a moment.

“Do it,” Malluk said. “You don’t want her here anyway.”

“No, I don’t,” Mortalia agreed. “Regardless of anything else, your relationship with her is degrading. A god with a human...” Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I thought you liked humans,” Kieran said.

“I do. As much as a human might like an animal that is beneath them. For a god to be with a human is as bad as a human being with a dog. You are not worthy of touching him.”

It seemed Kieran wanted to say more, but she wisely remained silent.

Mortalia gazed thoughtfully at the font again. “There are ways to bring a spirit back to life,” she told them finally. “There are also ways to destroy it completely, so that it no longer exists at all—even on the Immortal Plains. No after life, nothing. I’ll compromise and return her as a ghost.”

“No!” Kieran cried incredulously.

“She can haunt the place where she died. The mortals can deal with it from there.”

“No!” Kieran repeated. “It’s a prison. Spirits can’t feel. They can’t touch. I can’t be like that!” She grabbed Malluk’s wrist and looked up at him imploringly. “Who knows how long it’ll take to find a way to bring me back to life? You can’t do this to me!”

Mortalia picked up Kieran’s hand by one finger—touching it as little as possible—and tossed it off Malluk’s arm. “Better tell your son to hurry up,” she said in a mockingly sweet voice.

“But—”

“Bye,” Mortalia cut in. She waved a dismissive hand, and Kieran disappeared like smoke in a breeze.

Malluk shook his head and chuckled. “That’s just cruel.”

“Oh, it won’t kill her,” Mortalia said with a snicker. “But I do hope the information on how to destroy a ghost doesn’t accidentally fall into the wrong hands.”

“You’re not allowed to interfere. She’s in my domain.”

“Everyone is in death’s domain,” the death goddess told him lightly.

“Natural death is—when someone is killed or it’s their time,” he returned. “She’s not old enough for it to be her time, and getting someone else to kill her or give her some incurable disease is interference.”

Mortalia rolled her eyes. “Oh, you know I would never break a rule. I wouldn’t even push, unlike some.” She looked at him pointedly. “Gods need to take rules very seriously. Beings as powerful as we are, without rules...” She looked distant for a moment. “Believe me; no one wants that, not even you. You weren’t there in the last world. You didn’t see...” She trailed off and shook her head.

“I may not have been there, but I understand,” he told her. “And pushing isn’t breaking.”

She nodded. “Anyway,” she said, her tone becoming light again, “I’m sure Fate saw this coming a long time ago. She probably already has new champions. So, we can just watch and see how the game plays out. And see how much fun Kieran has while stuck in spirit form,” she added with an amused smile.

Malluk grinned. “You’re just perfectly nasty when you’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous of a human!” she growled. “You’ve just had your pet long enough. I’m sick of looking at her.”

Just then, a man entered the room. He looked human, with his lean body, pretty face, and very long, straight black hair held back in a ponytail, but his eyes were an unreal shade of cobalt blue, and he had light gray skin, black lips, raven-like wings, and small black horns on top of his head. He looked like a cross between an angel and a demon, though he was neither. He was a vyrandi, an immortal being who was Mortalia’s lover and also worked for her, retrieving the souls of the dead and escorting them to the Hall of Judgment.

“And what of your pet?” Malluk asked. “Shall I get rid of him?”

Mortalia glared at Malluk. “You’ll leave my Zavos alone.”

“Why do you need him?” Malluk asked as he pulled her close and tilted her face up with a thick finger under her chin. “You have me.”

“Because unlike you, he loves me.”

Malluk gave a disgusted grunt. “Then someone should rip out his heart and put him out of his misery.”

“I wish I could put it in your chest,” Mortalia said bitterly. “But it would just fester and rot there, tainted by your darkness. It’s a miracle that my heart hasn’t succumbed to your poison after being so close to you for so long.” She huffed. “I think my heart does it to me in spite, just to hurt me with a love I can never have.”

“Stop whining to me about your weakness.”

“Love is not weakness,” she returned heatedly, then sighed. “Though loving you is a curse.”

“Get over it.”

“You know, I hate you as much as I love you.”

“Touching,” he mocked. “Now, are you going to shut up and stay with me, or are you going to go play with your little demon boy?”

Zavos didn’t wait for her to answer—it was always the same. “I’ll be on mid-plain,” he told her, referring to the mist-covered Plain of Judgment, the neutral plain. It was where Chira, the goddess of justice, resided. It was also Mortalia’s rightful place, though she spent a lot of time on the Plain of Darkness. Zavos always waited there until Malluk was done with her and cast her aside. Then Zavos would be there, as always, to love her while she once again picked up the pieces of her broken heart. He gave her an adoring, understanding smile and left.

She smiled thankfully, then turned back to the font and watched Kieran’s ghost appear to her son. Mortalia couldn’t help a soft chuckle at the woman’s fury.

Malluk put his hands on her shoulders from behind. “Taking such pleasure in a person’s misery?” he asked teasingly. “I thought you were supposed to be neutral.”

She turned around and caressed the leathery skin of his stomach as she looked up at him. “Kieran isn’t a person, she’s a pest.”

He chuckled as he lifted her up and held her close in a crushing embrace. “I’ll have to find more pests. I like it when you’re mean.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes, well, you promised me nice,” she told him. “So, shut up and be nice already.” She grinned when he growled in response, and then happily accepted his fiercely passionate kiss.